Life Altered
by ooncer
Summary: During Going Home (3x11) Regina is about to save the residents of Storybrooke from Pan's curse... Until someone decides to stop her and take her to a place where she might find her Happily Ever After. Can this darkened heart learn how to be happy? SwanQueen. Fluff and feels, for which I will not apologise. :)
1. Plans Changed

**A.N: Hi! Thanks for stopping by! After breaking my heart whilst writing True Love Never Really Leaves, I've decided it's time for some SwanQueen fluffy feels to heal my soul! Admittedly this first chapter isn't very fluffy at all as I had to set the scene etc. and build up to the changes that are going to happen but I promise there will be happiness in the next chapter and beyond if you fancy sticking with me. :) All rights etc. belong to A and E/ABC, as do the characters I'm playing with and the dialogue that features in this chapter. No profit is being made from this, I just have to get my SQ kicks from somewhere! So there we go. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"This isn't fair. It's all my fault."

There's a sadness in his voice that sounds so surreal. Henry, my Henry doesn't _do_ this kind of upset.

"What do you mean?" I ask him wondering how he can possibly attribute this twist of fate to his own doing. I can hardly bear to look into his eyes but I know it'll be the last time I ever will so I force my gaze up to his.

"If I had never gone to get Emma, if I'd just lived under the curse with you, none of this would have ever happened. I thought I was alone, I thought you didn't love me." His words cut like a scalpel into my heart. "But I was wrong."

How I could ever have wasted that time with him, made him feel so lonely and unloved makes me sick to my stomach. If I could take it all back… But I _won't_ let him think this is all his fault.

"Henry, I was wrong too. It wasn't your fault, it's mine. I cast a curse out of vengeance." That's it. That's really where it all went wrong. One curse cast by one bitter woman and this is the life I've condemned us to. "And I'm…" I pause. I don't even know how to describe a person who inflicts this kind of pain. My eyes flit down to the floor in shame. "I'm a villain. You heard Mr. Gold. Villains don't get happy endings." It's like I actually have to say it out loud for the gravity of the situation to sink in. That's who I am. Only a villain acts as I have. I deserve to have everything I love, ripped away from me.

Then he speaks again, the most important, life-defining, soul-splitting seven words I've ever heard.

"You're not a villain, you're my mom." Now these threatening tears I've been blinking back are bursting over their eyelid dam and snaking down my cheeks. He leans into me, like he hasn't done for a long time and I breathe him in. If this is the last time I will ever see the one thing that keeps my dark heart beating, I'm going to make it count. I feel his warm heat against my own and, as his arms snake around my body I pray to whatever being out there is greater than this. My mind still whirrs. There has to be another way, there's _always_ another way. But this time there isn't. For him to be happy this is how it has to be.

The town looks on and to my right, another mother is saying a final goodbye to her child. Guilt strikes again as I realise this is the second time I'm taking their daughter away from them. After everything Emma has been through, it's cruel that her time with her parents is up. She has to _be_ a parent now. Properly. Alone. I have to speak to her, warn her about what's going to happen. But she's walking away.

"Emma," I call and she spins round."There's something I haven't told you," I say, utter contempt for myself apparent on my face.

"What now?" she asks but not unkindly. She's been crying too; emotion is damp on her cheeks. I remind myself that I'm not the only one this is devastating.

"When the curse washes over us, it will send us all back. _Nothing_ will be left behind. Including your memories." Her eyebrows raise in shock and confusion; another piece of crucial information I neglected to divulge in my haste to make sure Henry escapes. "It's just what the curse does. Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won't _ever_ have existed. So these last years, will be gone from both your memories and we just go back to being stories again." She manages not to show the pain of my blunt blow. I don't know how. I feel like I'm taking her lifelines away, severing her heartstrings one by one.

"What will happen to us?" she asks, worried, but I know she doesn't mean 'us.' She means 'Henry.'

"I don't know," I say quickly, not wishing to drag out my uncertainty.

The expression on her face tugs at my insides. "That doesn't sound much like a happy ending."

"It's not," I shake my head, preparing to reveal the one small thing I can do to ease a fraction of her pain. "But I can give you one."

"You can preserve our memories?" she asks, eager to know whether these past years _have_ to be forgotten.

"No." She's disappointed again. "I can do what I did to everyone else in this town… And give you new ones."

"You cursed them and they were miserable!" She's incredulous now. She doesn't understand, she thinks I want to do what I did to everyone else here, but I don't. My head is screaming that she doesn't know what I mean.

"They didn't have to be." I take her hand in mine. "My gift to you is good memories. A good life for you… and Henry."

She still looks as though she doesn't want me to go anywhere near her memories and I can't blame her. I've managed to destroy any chance at happiness that Emma has ever had. But there's something I can do that might show her how I feel about her. "You'll have never given him up. You'll have always been together." It's worked. The look on my face melts me. Tears roll unchecked once again.

Emma chokes back a sob, her hair blowing in the wind but nobody cares. "You would do that?" I want to reply, to tell her that I would move heaven and earth to make sure the two of them can have the Happily Ever After they deserve, but there isn't time.

"When I stop Pan's curse and you cross that town line, you will have the life you always wanted," I promise. No, swear.

"But it won't be real," she replies, worry catching in her throat.

"Well your past won't but your future will," I assure her, and that seems to be enough.

"Now go," I instruct, squeezing my son's shoulder for the last time. "There isn't much time left and the curse will be here any minute," I manage as I envelop Henry, my external heart, one last, gut wrenching time. Emma knows. I can finally see in her eyes that she knows I love him just as much as she does. This war we have been fighting over our son has been worthless because looking at her is like looking in the mirror. And although she gets to keep Henry, she's losing just as much as I am today. I give my boy, my life, my _everything_ one final kiss and step back, ready to do what must be done. The echoing thunder grows louder as Snow says a final goodbye to the daughter with whom she has only just been reunited and then it's down to me. My turn to do what I should have done long ago. Finally, something _good_. I turn to face the residents of Storybrooke and unfurl the scroll of paper in my hand. Ripping off the section I need, I scrunch it up between my trembling hands and hope to goodness that this is going to work. The green smoke is billowing towards us, enveloping trees and buildings as it comes and I know we'll be next if I don't hurry. Spreading my arms wide, fingers fizzing with purple charge, I begin to raise my hands towards the sky in defence. This is it. This is my one chance to save the people I should have saved long

ago. Purple shards of electricity speed up into the air to push against that impending smoke and-

An arm from behind, looping around my waist.

I'm yanked backwards.

The power in my hands stops, my magic disturbed. I'm spun around until another hand takes mine. As it pulls me away from Storybrooke, I whirl back to see the residents of Storybrooke engulfed in jade smoke.

I've failed.

We've lost.

Pan's curse has won.

But the hand is still tugging. It's warm and commanding and I _want_ to follow it but I haven't finished yet. I haven't saved everyone. I'm stumbling, tripping over my own feet until I look down.

The red line.

The _town_ line.

I've crossed it.

I look back, desperate to see that someone, _anyone_ has escaped from Pan. But there's no-one. Nothing. No smoke, no people, no buildings.

I turn around to see the owner of the hand. My lifesaver.

"Emma?" I manage before I sink to the ground and everything turns black.


	2. Morning Unexpected

An alarm clock shrills at an unfamiliar pitch and my eyes spring open even though they're not ready. I lift my head, shake it violently from side to side and then lie back down. This isn't my bed. This isn't my bedroom. It's not like any bedroom I've ever been in before. It's… yellow. I'm dreaming. This is all just a vivid dream, caused by the curse, and I'll wake up in the Enchanted Forest alone and broken-hearted. I close my eyes but open them once again when the cotton sheet that covers me is tugged slightly to the right and a throaty groan indicates that I'm not alone. I frown in confusion, hardly daring to breathe as I listen out for anything that might tell me who I'm in this bed with.

The ceiling is white, with stippled patterns working in towards an elaborate, golden lampshade and the sun is beaming through the thin curtains, making the room so bright I have to squint. The thud of my heartbeat grows steadily louder as I remember this happening to me only once before. The curse. The curse that started all this. Except that time, I was alone.

The bed shudders and I have no choice now but to turn and look. I swallow hard, dreading the outcome as I slowly ease my hips over and-

I stop, half rotated. Curves. Those are definitely not the hips of a man. My eyes move slowly up the stranger's body, taking in the dip of a waist and then the incline of shoulders where the sheet stops. Milky white skin is visible, dappled with strands of the blondest waves-

"Emma?" I breathe, now more confused than ever. This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm not meant to be here. I'm supposed to be in the Enchan-

Then I remember. That arm. That hand. Pulling me away, breaking the magic, tugging me over the line.

She moves again. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

"Morning, love," she whispers and then the featherlight feel of her lips on my forehead sends sparks up my spine. The mattress springs sound relieved as she gets up and after a moment, I can hear her bare feet pattering across what sounds like a tiled floor. An en suite bathroom. The hiss of a shower and the metallic slide of a curtain and I now have a few minutes to myself to figure out what on earth has happened here.

So, Emma pulled me back over the town line. That means this is her new life, these are her new memories. Except I'm here. I wasn't supposed to be a part of this. How do I fit in here?

My brain feels like it's on fire. I simply don't understand how this new life has played out but I don't have time to think about it anymore because Emma is coming out of the bathroom in a towel with her hair scraped up into a messy bun. Seeing her like this is just…

"Why don't you take a picture?" she smirks from the other side of the room as she takes a tub of moisturizer out of the dresser and begins slathering it in long strokes along her arms and up her neck.

"Wha-?"

"You're staring," she interrupts with a wink.

I clear my throat, embarrassed to have been caught. "Sorry, I just-"

"Couldn't take your eyes off me?" Her eyes are twinkling mischieviously.

"Something like that," I mutter, eyes now darting everywhere and anywhere away from her. She can tell something isn't right because she's cocking her head to one side and has stopped sluicing cream over every exposed area of skin.

"You okay, babe?" she asks, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.

"Fine," I nod, desperately trying to conjure up an air of nonchalance.

She doesn't look convinced, but goes back to her regime nonetheless.

"What time will you be home from work?" she asks. The towel is dropped, in preparation for clothes. Immediately, I avert my eyes once again.

"Er… I don't-" I stutter until a voice in my head puts me straight. I can't keep acting like this if I don't want her to know what's going on. Emma clearly woke up expecting me to be here. I tell myself I've been a mayor for a long time and that if there was ever a time to use my well practiced poker face, it's now. "I was thinking I might not go in today," I say firmly.

"Oh?"

"I have a headache," I moan and before I know it she's on the bed in front of me, half dressed and pressing her palm against my forehead.

"Mmm, you are a little warm," she concludes, "I'll get you an aspirin. I hope you're not getting sick." She doesn't know the half of it, but her worried tone makes my heart skip a beat.

"Have you told Richard you won't be in today?" she calls from the bathroom over the sound of pills rattling.

Who on earth is Richard? "Not yet."

My eyes desperately search the room, falling eventually on the nightstand beside me. There's a cream lamp, a glass of water on a marbled coaster and, I sigh with relief, a cell phone. There's no way I can speak to this Richard, not least because I have no idea who he is or what he does, so I write a text message. _Richard, can't come in to work today as I'm not well. _How does one sign a text message to a boss they've never met? I play it safe and stick with _R_. It doesn't take long to locate Richard's number; he seems to be in my list of recent contacts. Message sent, I lie back in bed as the beginnings of a real headache grind in my temples.

Emma returns with the bottle and I take two tablets with the water on the nightstand. I watch as she deftly hooks her bra and then swings on a polo neck. It seems Emma's fashion sense remains unchanged. I can't help but smile.

"That's better," she remarks, zipping up her boots at the end of the bed. "There's my Gina," and she kisses my forehead once again. "Feel better. I'll be home around five-thirty. Oh, and I'll send Henry up with some breakfast."

I choke on my water.

_Henry_.


	3. Mother Reunited

Henry's here.

Of _course_, how could I not have remembered? I sit up and fling off the covers. Wait, these are my pyjamas. How-?

I don't have time to worry about clothes, I _have_ to see my son. Slipping my feet into the pair of slippers beside the bed, I hurry out of the room and onto the landing. Peering through the open doors of more unfamiliar rooms, I make a beeline for the staircase. The banister beneath my fingers is painted wood, a far cry from the embellished metalwork of my Storybrooke mansion, and there is a worn area of carpet at the top of the stairs. And yet, there's something comforting about the imperfection of it all.

I descend carefully, as though my presence might alarm them when in actual fact it's me who is alarmed when I turn towards the sounds of metal on china to see Emma standing over a pan of scrambled eggs. My sharp intake of breath alerts them of my arrival and before I can make any comments about Emma's apparently miraculous improvement in cooking, I'm almost being knocked over by a blur of brown hair and green fabric.

He blows the wind out of me but I don't care because in my arms is the very person I thought I'd just said goodbye to forever. He grips so tightly, just like he did yesterday or… whenever that was.

"Mom!" he exclaims gleefully and just that one syllable is enough to bring a sudden surge of tears crashing down on top of his head. I kiss his sticking-up hair over and over and over again just in case this _is_ all a dream and it's the last time I can.

"Oh, Henry," I breathe, not caring that Emma has turned away from her eggs and is now looking at me with more confusion than even _I'm_ feeling right now. How can this be bad, how can any of this be wrong if I'm here with Henry?

"Are you alright? I thought you weren't feeling well?" he asks worriedly, pulling away and rushing over to the table where his own breakfast is getting cold.

"Uh, I'm not," I assure him, raising my hand to my head with a grimace for Emma's benefit. Thankfully she goes back to her pan and I can take a seat opposite Henry. "My head is pounding."

"Yes," Emma says commandingly, "you were supposed to be staying in _bed_." She's frowning like I'm a small child she's telling off.

Henry pours a glass of juice and slides it across the table to me. I sip obediently.

"Your mom will be here when you get home from school, kid," Emma smiles as she divides eggs carefully between two plates.

"Really? Awesome!" I don't think I've ever seen him more excited to have me around. His eyes are wide in disbelief. Doesn't he know I'd lay down my life for him?

Emma brings two plates over and puts one in my place. "Here we go," she announces with a flourish, "magic eggs and healing toast." The irony isn't lost on me.

"This looks delicious," I say and I mean it. The Emma I used to know would have just grabbed a bear claw on her way to work. Work. I don't know what she does here. I don't know what _I_ do here. Hell, I don't even know where _here_ is.

They tuck in and I can't help but stare at them. I never dreamed for one moment that in _any_ realm I would be sitting down for breakfast with my son and his mother. But it doesn't feel wrong. As much as I have no idea what this life is or has been, I think I want it. Any life with Henry has to be better than a life without him. And Emma. The way she kissed me this morning-

"Alright, I gotta go," Emma she announces suddenly, shattering my thoughts. "C'mon kid, I'll walk you to the bus." Henry stuffs the remainder of his toast into his mouth, cheeks poking out at odd angles to contain it.

"Bye, mom," he manages to spray as he hauls his backpack on and races out of the kitchen.

"Bye!" I call after him, more out of habit than anything else.

"You," Emma rounds on me playfully, "go back to bed and stay there until I get home, understood?" I nod, although I have no intention of doing as she says. She places her hands on either side of my head and then kisses my hair, lingering for a moment. There are those sparks again. The smell of her is unlike any I have experienced before: sweet and delicate and comforting and certainly not like the Emma Swan I used to know. I can't help the smile that's tugging at the corners of my mouth and yet this is crazy. This is Emma Swan. The Emma Swan I've been fighting with ever since she came to Storybrooke. "Love you!" she shouts, grabbing her keys and striding off after Henry. A few moments later a door slams.

I sit frozen for a minute, trying to take in what's just happened. I stare down at my untouched eggs but I'm not in the mood to eat. As bizarre as today has been up until this point, something is playing in the back of my mind. Henry knew I was here. He was _expecting_ me to be here, as if this is where I wake up every morning. Maybe Emma wasn't fooling around when she just told me she loves me. Is this what their new life is? _Our_ new life? Are we a… family?

Absentmindedly, my hand reaches up and rests on the place where Emma's lips have been just minutes before. Is this more than just a friendship or is this just two mothers living together for the sake of their son? I need to get caught up with what's happened in their lives but first, I _have_ to find out where I am. I push back the chair and get to my feet, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that comes with standing in the unfamiliar kitchen of somebody else's empty house. Wait, there's a newspaper on the counter. Maybe that will give me a clue. I hurry over, unfold it and scan the front page with hungry eyes, silently willing it to shed some light on my location. Sure enough, it's emblazoned with three words that shout back at me.

New York Times.


	4. Surprises Discovered

New York.

So _this _is the happily ever after? What made them come here? How do they think we all came to be together like this?

My thoughts are interrupted by the buzz and shrill tone coming from the cell I brought down and placed on the counter. It's a text message. _Sorry to hear. Rest up and feel better for the Delaney meeting tomorrow. Richard._

Phew, at least I have the day to try and figure out how I fit into this life. I spend a few minutes wandering about downstairs so I know where each room is and what's in it. If I don't want to alarm Henry or Emma then I need to at least look like I know the layout of my own house. From the kitchen there's a tall archway leading to a living room. It's a mismatched room full of clashing furniture and materials that look as though they've come from the 1920s. One particular piece catches my eye - a chintz armchair in the most hideous floral pattern I've ever seen. There's a long tear down the left hand side, exposing the stuffing within and the wear of many years shows up as discolouration on the once pale fabric. I'd never in a million years displayed something like this in my home, and yet there's something so comfortable about it. It's just so… _Emma_. Upstairs there are three bedrooms; one Henry's, one ours-

My brain stops itself, dead. Ours. _Our_ bedroom. Mine and Emma's. It's more bizarre than I ever could have imagined, but then again, it was _her_ who dragged _me_ over the town line so this is her happily ever after. A warmth builds in my heart and spreads around my chest. I look down, wondering whether I might actually be glowing but my searching eyes are greeted only by the pale blue buttons of the pyjama shirt I apparently wore to bed last night.

The third bedroom is stark white and empty, except for a tall pile of boxes against the far wall. It smells new and the carpet is soft beneath my bare feet; it must hardly be used. I tiptoe back into Henry's room without even thinking and perch on the edge of his bed. It's very different from the one I sat in yesterday as he packed a few things to take away with Emma. _Bring_ away? My brain aches. I bring his pillow up and graze it against my nose. It smells of him. It isn't the right material against my skin or the colour he picked out with me but it's his smell. The one he's had ever since I first held him in that office, the one that's stilled my wandering thoughts at times when he was my only motivation. The scent of home.

I wonder what his version is of that day. I made it so Emma never gave him up, so I must have come later. Role reversal. This must be how she felt. I give a grunt of dry amusement at the thought. I'll need to find out, although there is no easy way to ask the person you've supposedly been with for however long if they can tell you their life story which you know isn't actually real but a false memory of your own implantation. There must be clues around here somewhere. Pictures or something. I have a quick hunt around the bedroom for anything of use but nothing crops up so I patter back downstairs and into the kitchen. I'm hungry now but the eggs have developed an unappetizing layer on top and don't look very appealing. A quick scan of the fridge turns up some questionable yoghurt and a handful of wrinkled blueberries, but at least it's something. I tumble in the dark fruits, locate a spoon in the drawer on the other side of the kitchen and stand against the counter. The cold, silky mouthfuls slide smoothly down my throat and for a few moments I almost forget I'm not in the clean, monochrome kitchen of the mansion I used to conceal my loneliness.

I make a mental note to try and stop comparing that life to this. It isn't going to help anybody if I dwell on unhappiness and mistakes when I should be trying to figure out who Regina Mills is here. I've been in this house less than two hours but there's a lightness I haven't felt for a long time and if I want it to grow, I have to embrace whatever this home and these people and this city hold for me.

Suddenly my eyes are drawn to a package wrapped in shimmering purple paper which is sitting on top of the cupboards and almost out of reach. Curious, I stand right up on my toes and edge it closer, until eventually I catch it clumsily in my waiting hands. It's small and square - about the size of a drinks coaster, but thicker - and there's a tag in the same sparkling violet. For a split second I wonder whether I should be looking. It still doesn't feel like my house and snooping on my family doesn't seem the best way to begin this new life. Although, what if it's me who stowed the little parcel up there? Closing my eyes, I turn over the label and make one final decision to peek. I know it's the right decision because scrawled black letters alert me to something of which I should probably be aware.

_My beautiful Gina,_

_Happy anniversary._

_I love you more than_

_I could ever say._

_Emma xxxxxx_


	5. Memories Uncovered

Anniversary?

Eyes darting down, I inhale sharply as I notice the empty ring finger on my left hand. We're not married. Deep within my very core there's a twinge of something bitter and quite unpleasant. Surely not disappointment? I trace over the words with my thumb and consider what this must mean. We're together, Emma and I. The saviour and the evil queen. I allow this confirmation to wash around me like a whirling breeze, as though I'm reconnecting with an old friend. Underlying feelings I hadn't even noticed are bubbling up to the surface and images flicker past like stills on the projector of my mind. A tank top clad Emma wielding a chainsaw, the passion that mixed with hopelessness in her eyes as she threw me against that hospital shelving and the look on her face when that kiss woke Henry. Her soft, understanding expression when she knew I was telling the truth and how her eyes widened with gratitude when I told her about the new memories I could give them both. Little did I know I would be starring in a make-believe of my own creation.

So. We're a _thing_. But there are no clues. Nothing around the house to suggest anyone but Emma and Henry live here. No photos or things I recognise, although I suppose I wouldn't since we only landed here this morning. But why am I the only one who remembers? How can they have completely forgotten everything if my memories are still in tact? Maybe my magic went wrong. Or maybe it's because I wasn't supposed to be coming. I'm an unexpected passenger on this rollercoaster of fate. I smile, realizing what Emma risked to haul me into this life with her. She had no idea where she would end up and yet she made that decision in a fraction of a second. I remember the darkest feeling, like somebody was lowering the blinds on Storybrooke and everything I had come to know, and then the sudden warmth when a hand gripped mine to spare me from the impending nightmare.

Carefully, I place the gift back on top of the cupboard, making sure to push it right back to its original position. Then, I panic.

When is our anniversary? Have I bought Emma anything? If I haven't, what on earth am I going to do? I don't know what she has here or what she might want or anything about what she thinks she's been through over these past pretend years. There's an urgency in my step now as I rush upstairs and into our bedroom. Flinging open cupboards and pulling out drawers I search desperately for a similar package that my mayoral self must surely have arranged well in advance, but to no avail. Apparently the Regina here in New York is lacking my trademark organisation. There's nothing for it - I'm going to have to go out.

There are twin wardrobes in the room, both a pale cream with curled golden edging, however, inside they could not be more different. One is piled high with tank tops and skinny jeans, as well as the occasional polo neck which have all clearly been thrust in without a care. The other is immaculate. Dark grey and black blazers hang smartly from uniformed hangers, occasionally twinned with a pencil skirt and there are piles of neatly folded pants on the shelf running below. There are blouses of almost every colour, arranged from cold blues and greens all the way up to warm reds and a neat row of black heels waiting to be slipped onto efficient feet. I breathe in the scent of leather and crisp, fresh fabric and it envelops me like a warm hug. It's reassuring to know that the Regina in this world has retained my admiration for the perfect pant suit.

Rather than reach for my tried and tested favorites, however, I find myself drawn back to the first wardrobe and pulling out a crumpled burgundy sweater. Despite the lack of care it has so obviously been afforded, my fingers brush over the soft, cloud-like fibres and my mind is made up. If this is to be the first day of the rest of my life then I must jump in with both feet.

Within forty minutes I've had an unfortunate incident with what appears now to be a broken shower head, searched high and low for a bra that actually fits me and squeezed on a pair of dark jeans to accompany the sweater. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror on my way down the stairs and stop abruptly. Aside from the lines etched into my skin by innumerate years of worry and hatred, I look much younger. Perhaps a change of wardrobe was needed a long time ago; maybe the Regina I'm leaving behind was trapped in a jail cell of charcoal grey and fitted shirts.

Thankfully a bowl on the sideboard by the front door is home to a small set of keys adorned with a sparkling silver 'R.' It reminds me of a keychain Henry once made at school. It had practically been drowned in glitter and took over a week to dry, leaving iridescent flecks sticking to everything imaginable.

My memories are once again interrupted, but this time by the terrifying _ding dong_ of the doorbell. I freeze to the spot, unsure of what to do. I'm only just getting the hang of being here, in this house, let alone anything else. I peer cautiously through the peep hole where the distorted face of a delivery man gawps up at me. A delivery. I can handle that. Hand trembling slightly, I push down the small handle and the door clicks open to reveal a small but stocky man with receding hair and a crooked smile.

"Miss Mills?" he asks cheerfully and I try to speak but choke over the words. I nod violently in an attempt to look convincing. "Right," the little man continues, "sign here…"

He passes over a curious box and a plastic stick, clearly expecting me to do something although I have no idea what it is. I stare and he stares and an uncomfortable silence falls until I manage an awkward "Uh-" and he explains.

"Just sign your name here." He's pointing to a line on the box so I take the tiny wand and make some attempt at writing my signature. It slides about and looks like a scribble but to my relief he hands over a fairly large brown parcel. Every inch is covered in just one word, like graffiti.

Amazon.

Is it from Brazil? It's addressed to me so I peel back a section of tape and open one end of the box. Out slides a rather heavy and neatly bound book in mint green. The title is in large, blue capital letters.

FAMILY PHOTO ALBUM.


	6. Stranger Comforted

I yank the cover open, heart racing, greedy eyes ready to feast on the contents. It's empty.

It's only now, as blank pages stare back at me, that I realize how much I wanted there to be photographs inside. A lump forms in my throat and for a moment I feel like allowing the disappointment wash around me and succumbing to it, but all thoughts are interrupted by the click of a lock. The front door. I rush into the living room, stuffing the empty album into the first cupboard I can get to, along with some dusty VHS tapes and broken ornaments. I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in every fiber and attempt to keep my breathing under control as the door opens and keys fall into the dish in the hall.

"It's me!" Emma's voice echoes and that's all it seems to take for the prickling hairs on the back of my neck to settle down. "Gina?"

"In here," I reply, throat dry and voice husky with relief. Her head pokes around the door but her bright smile falls into a frown when she sees me, awkwardly huddled in the worn chair I've flumped into in an attempt to make it look like I've been here all morning.

"I came to see if you were feeling better." She's holding out a paper bag, face contorted with sympathy. "I brought you lunch," she smiles but an odd swirling in my stomach indicates it isn't a sandwich I needed to make me feel better. It's her. Blonde curls bounce over and she kneels down beside me, a slender hand reaching up to rest against my head. "Hmm," she ponders, "you're not too warm. Still feeling rough?"

I don't like lying to her, but that softness in her voice is so comforting - the shining beacon of home in this place I haven't yet come to know - and I need it. I nod, wondering whether I am actually having to bend the truth at all. I do feel strange and I don't know whether it's the shock of everything but I feel as though I am justified in telling her I'm unwell. Her lower lip juts out in the most adorable way and she takes my hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with her thumb.

"Well," she begins mischievously, "I've taken the rest of the day off so I can help you feel better." I gasp involuntarily and she obviously thinks I was about to argue because she continues quickly, "And I won't take no for an answer. We are going up to bed and you are going to relax, and then when Henry gets home we will prepare a meal fit for a queen-"

I snort.

"-So you don't have to lift a finger for the rest of the day." She's smiling kindly and I'm instantly sorry for my outburst. She leads me up the stairs, her grip warm and commanding and I can't help but watch the way her hips sway from side to side as she walks. Suddenly I'm conscious of being in these mystery pyjamas. It's been a long time since anyone except Henry has seen me in anything other than my pant suits and pencil skirts, let alone the woman I spent years hating for trying to take my son away.

She collapses on the bed, the very same bed I woke up in this morning with no idea where I was. I obediently follow her hand signal and climb in, pulling the covers up and over my legs. She's on her side and I can feel her sapphire eyes boring into the side of my head, so I turn to face her. Eyes tracing silently, we watch each other for a few minutes and it's the first time I've ever truly looked at her. A couple of tiny freckles speckle her cheeks and there's a scar up by her eyebrow I've never noticed before. I suppose it's because I've never been looking.

Her eyes glint in the light so that they're not blue at all, but the green of the sea on a clear day and there's a devotion there as she looks into my own chocolate orbs. As if she'll do anything for me.

"I love you, you know," she murmurs.

I don't know what to say. It's been too long since anyone has ever said that to me. Properly, I mean. Do I say it back when I don't even know how this happened? Then again, that warmth is bubbling up in my stomach once more and I don't ever want it to go away.

"Mmmm," I hum back, smiling slightly and closing my eyes. It just feels so _right_. But how strange to have been here, in this land, in Emma's happily ever after for just a few hours and already feel like this is where I should be. Just a day ago I was worrying about my son and losing everything I loved and preparing for the last day of everything being as it was, and now there's nothing. No curses, no demons, no pirates or lost boys, just… peace. Henry is safe and I'm no longer hated.

Emma twirls a strand of blonde through her fingers, eyes still fixed on my face. I wonder if she's thinking about me too, wondering how _I_ got _my_ scar. Maybe she, too is looking for the thousandth time but only really _seeing_ for the first. I'm lost, not for the first time today, but this time in her. We're lost in each other and that, it seems to me, is the best kind of lost there is.


	7. Changes Decided

**A.N: I can only apologize for the horrendously long time between updates. It's such a shame that life and jobs get in the way and we can't all just spend every day writing FanFiction isn't it? Still, I am determined to continue with this story and have another chapter ready to post very soon. I can't believe I'm even awake after the longest week ever, especially as it's almost 1am but somehow I couldn't sleep so figured I might as well post this chapter. Many thanks to anyone who is still with me on this journey, I so appreciate every single one of you.**

* * *

This time the bed doesn't feel quite so unfamiliar, although when I finally open my eyes, the room is almost too dark to see. It takes my brain no more than a second to flash the day's events through my mind. Fear no longer has a grip around my heart and in fact, there is unexpected comfort in the realization that this has not all been a dream. I let out a long sigh and turn to where Emma lay before I fell asleep. She's still there.

"Well good evening, sleepyhead," she murmurs. I peer up at her silhouette as she lies on her side, propped up on a pair of pillows. Then without warning, she cranes her neck down to graze her lips against mine just enough so that I actually find myself wanting more. She must have felt my eyebrows lower with the confusion of it all because she pulls away and gazes at me, her eyes shining like onyx in the fading light from outside. "Are you still sick?" she purrs once again into the stillness and I shake my head violently.

"No. Much better now," I assure her with a small smile to prove it. It works, because a moment later her pale lips are pressed against mine once again and the tip of her nose nudges mine. Yesterday, I'd have run away screaming but today it feels nice. And I haven't felt these fireworks in the pit of my stomach since… well, since Daniel.

"You're still here," I say when we pull apart again, more an observation than anything else.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok. Anyway, Henry went to Jared's to play his new game and you were sleeping so peacefully I just… wanted to watch you."

"Watch me?" I ask, more disapprovingly than I intend. I soften my voice to add, "Why?"

"Because you're beautiful," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And because when you sleep you look more peaceful than I've ever seen you. Your eyebrows don't curve in that worried way they do when you have a big meeting coming up and that vein on your forehead lies so flat you wouldn't even know it's there. You know, the one that comes out when you're telling Henry for the fifth time to clean his room or when I've left the milk out on the counter?"

There's humour in her voice but the words cut sharply. That sounds like the woman I've been trying to get away from and if I'm like that here, with no soldiers or enemies or people endangering my son, what sort of person am I now?

"Do I do those things… often?" I wonder out loud and wishing immediately that I hadn't.

She panics slightly and attempts to cover it up. "No, no you don't. Not _very_ often. Just… sometimes. And we love you for it. God knows, the whole house would be a hovel if you didn't keep us in check." "Hey," she lifts my chin up with her fingertips so I'm looking at her shadowy face, "we love you. Just the way you are."

It seems appropriate to mumble, "Me too," as I make a mental note not to snap at either of them ever again.

For about a minute we just lie there thinking, until Emma speaks again. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Henry mentioned some project he has to do for school. He wanted you to do it with him but I explained about how you probably wouldn't have time because you're so busy at work nowadays. I don't mind doing it with him anyway and he seemed ok about it."

My heart tugs when I hear that I might not be putting my son first here. I used to run an entire town, force people to do my bidding, cast powerful curses and still have time to help Henry with his homework. So why is this place any different? Granted, I don't know what my job is here, but it can hardly be a more taxing position than mayor.

"No, it's ok. I'll do it with him," I tell her and she looks as me in disbelief. "I _want_ to. I've been thinking I might take some time off work anyway," I say brightly, in an attempt to cover my feelings of guilt.

"Really?" She's obviously shocked. "But I thought you had that big case coming up?"

"I do," I play along, remembering vaguely that Richard's text had mentioned something about a meeting tomorrow. "But I think I'm going to tell Richard I need a holiday. You know, just for a little while. I need to spend more time with Henry. I miss him." The last words are completely true. He's been slipping from my grip for the past two years and I need to get him back, whichever world we have ended up in.

Emma seems pleased by the idea. I can tell she's smiling broadly, even in the increasing darkness and we both lie down again, considering what the near future has in store.

"So, dinner," she remarks, prompted by the soft growl of her stomach. "What do you feel like? And you know as well as I do that what I'm really asking is which takeout I should order."

Now she's mentioned it, I am getting hungry and something hot and greasy sounds surprisingly good. "I don't mind," I tell her. "What are you thinking?"

She hums under her breath, and I can tell she's mentally making a list of all her favorite fried foods. Suddenly she proclaims, "Chicken!" with such glee that the bed shakes when she springs up.

"Chicken sounds fine," I laugh, marveling at how she's already up and threading a belt through the loops of her jeans. Apparently the Emma here is driven by her stomach to the same extent as the one in Storybrooke. "I'll be back in half an hour," she gushes, bounding out of the bedroom door and I lie back again, feeling surprisingly disappointed that she left without kissing me goodbye.


	8. Meeting Discussed

The chicken is hot and steamy and even the layer of grease on the tips of my fingers can't put me off. I think about how long it has been since I've eaten anything quite so vulgar and can't remember. It pains me to admit that Emma might always have been right about the relationship between junk food and comfort. She's in her element now, speaking at such excitable speed that I can hardly keep up. About Henry and school and her work and _my_ work and plans for the redecoration of the house. She pauses only to lick her fingers free of salt from the fries she's been shovelling down in between sentences and I watch in awe as the level of food in the bucket lowers at a dramatic rate.

Suddenly and without warning, she throws down the bone she's been picking at and declares herself so full she might burst, at which point I finish a couple more fries and join her in a food coma. We lie there, not speaking, for what seems like an age. Thoughts flit in and out of my mind, asking questions which lead to more questions and rarely any answers but that's ok. I'm getting used to it now. The irony isn't lost as I realize I've gone from being all-knowing and all-powerful to the person in this world who seems to know the least. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. No queen remains throned forever.

I decide it's time to do something about all these questions that are fighting for precedence in my head. Emma might think me mad but I need to find out something more about these new implanted memories I've bestowed upon my son and his mother. I take a breath, clear my throat and ask the question that's floated to the forefront of my mind in that moment.

"Emma?" She grunts her reply, replete and without even turning her head to look at me. I take this to mean I can continue. "How did we meet?"

Now she rolls, with great effort, onto her side and peers at me through narrowed eyes.

"Woah, did you lose some brain cells when you had that headache?" she teases, eyebrows raising in jest.

"No, I… I mean I _know _how we met, I just… I like it when you tell it," I lie, heart thudding a little louder in my ears.

"Well in that case," she begins, pulling herself up to lean against the headboard, eyes still locked on mine, "prepare to be amazed by my talent for storytelling." She winks and my heart skips. I smile warmly at her, a reward for indulging me.

"It was about twelve years ago," she says, her eyes twinkling in the lamp light. My own eyes widen in shock. Twelve years? That's almost as old as Henry is. "And I was on my way to the pharmacy for diapers and aspirin. Henry must have been a few months old-" I suddenly remember that in this world he didn't just turn up on her doorstep as a precocious ten year old. "-and just as I was trying to choose the bottle of pills I needed, he decided to freak out in the middle of the store. A tantrum to blow all others out of the park."

I smile, imagining the scene in my head and it must look like I'm reminiscing because she's revelling in the power of her words. She continues. "He was shrieking at the top of his voice and his little arms and legs were flailing about so hard, I thought he was going to take off. You remember how his little face would turn so red he looked like he might explode?"

I nod enthusiastically as her story takes me back to those early days in Storybrooke when I tried anything and everything to get him to stop crying, including taking him to the hospital.

"Like a beetroot," I murmur with a smile.

"Right, just like a beetroot. Anyway, I'd had no sleep, my head was splitting and I was just about to lose it completely and break down right there, in the middle of the store when an angel appeared before me."

"An angel?" I scoff, imagining Gabriel descending from above, bathed in a holy light.

"An angel," she repeats. "I only saw the top of her head as she bent down to my son's carrier and handed him her keys to play with. The jingle of the metal and her soft, deep voice calmed us both down almost instantly and I knew this woman had been sent from heaven just for us."

Her eyes are moist and she's blinking quickly in an attempt to stem the flow of tears that are about to burst over. She carries on, voice trembling slightly now.

"It was only when she tilted her head up to face me that I saw how beautiful she was. Those eyes made me weak at the knees. Still do," she adds, staring into them now. "They were like pools of… safety. She looked so important in her crisp suit and I felt more than inferior in my threadbare old jeans and shirt stained with baby vomit and formula."

I make a mental note never to wear a pant suit again.

"She asked me if I was having a hard time and I told her everything. About Neal and prison and Henry," continues Emma. Once again, my eyes widen in surprise. I can't imagine it; Emma Swan pouring her heart and soul to a stranger she had only just met. "I know," she says, "I was just as surprised as you! But I was so tired and frustrated that it all came spilling out. And that," she finishes with a flourish, "is where it all began."

She places her hand on top of mine and intertwines our fingers. It surprises me how moved I am. One encounter in a pharmacy that apparently changed our new lives forever, and now here we are, a very short twelve years later. Living together. It certainly doesn't sound like the meeting of fairytales. In fact, if Snow and Charming heard about how underwhelming it was compared to theirs, the two women would surely never hear the end of it.

I'm grateful to Emma for telling me. It fills in probably the biggest blank of all, but I'm curious about something.

"Do you ever wish it had been more… special?" I ask, rather dreading the answer.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, don't you wish it was a better story? Something more… I don't know… Enchanting?"

Emma laughs and then squeezes my hand. "Of course I don't, Gina. You were there for me when I had nobody else. You were my savior." She's smiling and now it's me who has tears snaking their way down my cheeks. It's that final word, Emma's birthright, and the one title I never imagined would be used to describe someone like me.


	9. Darkness Befriended

Luminous green letters show 05:12 when I next look but my eyes feel awake and the steady, rhythmic whoosh of Emma's breathing is the only sound in the whole place. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and browse some recent messages. There's the one from Richard and a few mixed ones from Emma about dinner ingredients and Henry's most recent soccer game, then a message from Amanda about a pilates class I apparently attended and a short conversation with a man named Drew in which we debate Richard's choice in neck ties. Short snippets of information passed from person to person but without any real clues about my life.

I tap the icon and enter my email inbox, which is empty. Clearly 'New York Regina' is as efficient as ever. Still, there's an address in the contacts for a Richard so I carefully compose an email requesting leave. I decide that a week is plenty - enough time for the dust to settle, but hopefully without arousing suspicion. The phone beeps twice as it sends and I thrust it under the covers, holding my breath in case it wakes Emma. It doesn't.

After a few minutes of allowing the past day to whirl around my head, my thoughts are drawn to Henry. I've been here for a full day and only seen him for a few minutes at breakfast. A moment later, and without permission, my legs have swung out of bed and pulled my body up. The carpet is soft and warm beneath my bare feet and I turn around to replace the duvet. Emma stirs slightly, changing position, but she doesn't wake. Even so, I tiptoe over to the door, open it just enough to slide out and pull it closed behind me.

The darkness is stifling and unsettling as I stumble around unknown objects in my path. I know I'm heading for the room directly across the landing from ours but negotiating the obstacles silently requires an awkward shuffle. The door is slightly ajar but a quiet snore comes from within and I can't help but smile as relief washes over me. He's here. Peering through the gap, I can just make out the dark shape of Henry's body, rising and falling in time with the soft grunts of teenage dreaming. Just being in the same room as him is like a tonic. It always has been. Even in the darkest of times, when my heart has been filled with guilt and lies and evil, it's outshone by his… well, his _good_. He's the only truly good thing I've ever done.

I pad over to the bed and bend down, beginning to well up. I blink furiously but tears seem intent on spilling over, dropping onto his pillow one by one and soaking in. I can't tell if they're tears of joy or longing or relief but they're relentless, coming so quickly I have to use the sleeve of my pyjamas to dab them away. My dark, shrivelled heart feels alive whenever he's near and now it's beating as though it's grown to five times its size. I push strands of dark hair back to place a delicate kiss on Henry's forehead, feeling his sleepy warmth beneath my lips.

There's a quiet cough from the doorway which makes my whole body jolt and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end even when I turn to see it's just Emma who has walked in on us.

"You scared me," she whispers into the stillness, "I thought you were sick again."

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself before admitting, "I miss him."

I can't see it, but I know she's cocked her head to one side like she did last night when I asked her about how we met. "I know," is all she says.

"I think I'm going to stay in here for a while," I whisper, lowering to the floor with my back against his bed. After a moment, she comes sliding down gracefully beside me so our hips are just touching. Her hand snakes over, slotting slender fingers in between my own as she leans against my arm and rests her head on my shoulder. She smells like sleep and shampoo and I can't help but breathe her in.

"I really love him, you know." I don't know what makes me say it. Maybe it's the knowledge that in this world, I haven't done it all on my own. We've done it together. Emma nestles further into my side with a contented sigh and nods her head slightly against my shoulder.

"I know you do," she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep, "thank you."

I don't know whether she means to be thanking me or whether tiredness is taking over but either way, it feels good. I consider thanking _her_ too, but the increasing pressure on my left side signals she's losing her battle with sleep and I don't want to wake her. I wonder about the mystical properties of sleep. It rejuvenates and refreshes, terrifies and confuses and yet, the faces of the sleeping are almost always serene. Days of heartbreak and misery are forgotten and calm manifests itself in the relaxed features of the dreaming.

Perhaps this will be the start of a life where, even in sleep, I can rest safely in the knowledge that I am doing the right thing. And if that means sitting here in the darkness with the son I adore and a woman who appears to love me despite my many faults, doing the right thing doesn't seem like it will be so hard after all.


End file.
